Of Five Dollar Bills and Tasty Meals

I stand amazed at a disturbing trend overtaking my homeland. A trend I willingly and lustfully partake in, daily.

Yesterday I spent the morning at Starbucks, a glorious place filled with delightful beverages wielding the power to turn your frazzled morning into a spiritual experience. The creators of Starbucks, whomever they are, were not a single IQ point away from being declared sheer geniuses. After all, who can, upon entering these franchises with the best of intentions of frugality, resist the titillating aromas of freshly roasted, brewing coffee wafting throughout the classic coffee shop décor, offering both peace and tranquility at no small price, to the formerly monetary minded patron? As if this scene were not enough to entice one to all-together turn over one’s wallet in exchange for a Venti cup of a six-worded beverage, the unquestioning perkiness of the Baristas surely does the trick. There is not a coffee purchaser yet who has left anything short of a friend to a Barista… Yes, Starbucks is a delightful place.

But, after several minutes of sitting and sipping my five dollar beverage of delight yesterday morning, and fully basking in all that Starbucks has come to offer me, it hit me: how many children in the world will not know what their next meal tastes like because I chose to spend my excess on my own luxury rather than on meeting the immediate needs of those most desperate for it?

Reading a book, “Radical,” by David Platt, I received my answer all too soon: five children to be exact. According to the statistics found in Platt’s book, over one billion people a day live on a measly dollar a day, and two billion more live on only two dollars a day (108). What a sobering truth.

When I stop to consider how well I know the Starbucks menu by heart, I can no longer help but imagine the desperate, helpless faces of those men, women, and children unable to survive on a dollar a day… not because they were not good stewards of the meager amount available to them, rationing and portioning, sharing amongst their shrinking families. But, due only to my own selfishness and ignorance, have shirked my responsibilities to godly stewardship.

Second Corinthians 9:8 speaks so clearly of this concept, “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” God has not lavished his grace upon us in order that we might solely bask in the abundance that he blesses us with. That concept makes us the object of worship! What a dangerous concept for us to find ourselves embracing!

No, he has lavished us with such grace that we may turn around and lavish others with that same grace in the generous supply he has abounded to us in our own lives.

I find my heart questioning the significance of the luxury that Starbucks has come to represent in this article in my own life, not because Starbucks is in and of itself a wretched place of debauchery, but because somewhere there is a little girl crying out for a meal that I have the funds to provide. Will I really choose to live a lifestyle that is characterized by a five-dollar-beverage addiction when I have been given the grace to abound five-days of sustenance for her? Five more days of a chance for her to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ? Oh, how my prayer is that I won’t! …that we won’t.

Boxed Emotion

rejected memories rest
on my dressing table
hidden in a hand-me-down keds box


stationary bleached with tears
photographs torn
solitary dehydrated yellow rose


walking away as if the first time
fantastical dreams returned
one tear sluices a spellbound emotion


releasing the truth
admitting my fate
consumed and discarded


i am a forgotten valentine

Haggai 2:23

Standing in a line
transported back to recess
pigtails disheveled; heart disillusioned
my eyes on the best of the group
hearing their names called aloud
Mike…
Beth…
Jim…
my heart sinks
will I be called last?
Will I be left standing alone?
I hear a familiar voice
His eyes focused on me
I have been chosen
He wants me for His very own
I am His
His alone.

My Invitation

When I don't ask because I'm afraid to hear what you'll say...

When I am satisfied with knowledge and just walk away...

When I spend the day artificially trying to hide...

When once again Your Truth is drowned out by a lie...

...It's then that I hear You loud and clear

"Come deeper."

"Come deeper."

"Just rest in knowing I AM is here."

Milkshake, oh milkshake

Milkshake, oh milkshake
In your glass all frosty and cold…

Milkshake, oh milkshake
Your statement is bold.

Milkshake, oh milkshake
Please give me a clue.

Milkshake, oh milkshake
Why does a clear identity elude you?

Milkshake, oh milkshake
Are you a beverage or an ice cream?

Milkshake, oh milkshake
You really need to pick a team.

Milkshake, oh milkshake
Riding the fence, you will surely loose

Milkshake, oh milkshake
Whose allegiance do you choose?

Your Very Own Bed Sheets

Yesterday I kept a promise. I deeply wish that I could tell you that I kept my promise because I was overwhelmed with a love and passion that could not keep me away from fulfilling my vow, but sooner or later Truth would rat me out and you would discover that I mostly kept my promise out of pride. I made a commitment to be somewhere, and I would certainly rise to the occasion, lest someone find my obliged word questionable. Pride. So what was this promise I felt so inclined to keep? A few weeks ago I was asked to join my church for a morning of feeding the homeless at a local shelter, and yesterday was that day.

Too intimidated to go alone, I shanghaied a friend into going with me. We pulled into the parking lot and immediately faced the decision to take the easy route and claim there wasn’t a parking spot to behold and feigning disappointment later in the day, or deciding to stay. As one homeless man approached the rear of our car to move a parking cone for us, I, for but a brief moment, made eye contact with somebody’s need. It was not his need for pancakes that I was face to face with at that moment, but the need for genuine love. We stayed.

Walking into the gated parking lot, dressing down in last year’s J.Crew from head to toe, all which was within me wanted to leave. We got put to work at the clothing station. Hey, a girl’s gotta use her strengths, right? At first, I busied myself with the organization of the clothes… shirts here, pants there, large, medium, small… nothing to it, just like my closet at home. Until it wasn’t anymore.

I picked up a large maroon piece of cloth I originally thought was an oversized dress shirt. It turns out that it was at the very bottom of the pile of clothes, so it took quite a bit of tugging to release it from the stack. Once I got it out, however, I realized my initial impression was actually quite wrong. It wasn’t an oversized dress shirt; it was a bed sheet. I am ashamed to admit that the first two thoughts that ran through my head upon fully gazing at this bed covering were: “This is possibly the ugliest set of sheets I have ever seen,” and soon followed by “If you are homeless, why do you need a set of sheets to begin with?” That’s when I met her.

I’m not sure what her name is (I now regret not having the forethought to ask her when I had the chance), but the words she spoke have forever changed my perspective on monetary purchases. As she was rummaging through the stack of clothes, and approaching the bottom where I had re-stashed the unnecessary hideous sheet set, she quickly placed her bags on the ground in order to free both hands to delicately pick up the maroon monstrosity. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her inability to take her eyes off of the sheets.

She held them in her left hand and gently whisked her right hand across the top of the worn cloth as if it was a newborn grandchild’s precious cheek. After taking a second for contemplation, she extended the sheets towards her friend, who also paused in her tracks upon realizing what was before her: bed sheets. “Imagine that… having your very own bed sheets. And, such a beautiful set at that.”

She delicately ran her fingertips over the top layer of the gorgeous fabric as she and her friend both sighed in unison, and then gently lowered them back to the table. I, ignorantly, reminded her that she was free to take them if she wanted. She, now making eye contact with my point of need… humility… smiled and stated these everlasting words: “Oh, honey, now that would require that I had a bed to put them on, wouldn’t it?” Writing that sentence, I fear it may be taken in the cynical voice with which I naturally read things so often. Let me be overly clear here that her intention was far from cynicism, or even pity for that matter. Her statement was but a shear representation of the truth: she had no bed, so therefore she also had no need for a set of bed sheets, however soft and beautiful they may have been.

She had no bed? I have two! and goodness knows how many sets of sheets for both of them. How many times have I complained that the sets I have are not made of Egyptian cotton, a high enough thread count, or just simply have been shelved for years on account of their hideous clash with my updated décor? Somehow I can now envision that worn maroon cloth matching everything I own, and I own nothing maroon.

When did it become okay in mind for me to spend a three-digit number on a single pair of jeans? To own six black pairs of shoes… and still believe I have no appropriate footwear for the day? When exactly was it that I lost touch with reality? At what point did money offer to be my god and I willingly bowed down to it? I cannot answer any of these questions, but I can give you a clear answer to this: When did I decide that Money had to be dethroned in my heart? Yesterday at 10 AM, while holding a set of maroon sheets.

The Promise of Failure

Have you ever found yourself in a perfectly typical, comfortably mundane conversation when all of the sudden something your chatty counterpart says sends you into an unexpected intellectual tailspin? A few weeks ago I had one of these moments at dinner with a good friend. In between, “Pass the ketchup, please,” and, “Try this… It’s fantastic!” laid a life-examining inquiry: “If you could do anything at all with the promise of not failing, what would you do?”

This question was not directly posed to me. In fact, it wasn’t directly meant for anyone in particular, but rather was stated as a remark of reflection on my dinner companion’s personal passions, or the search thereof. Although the intention of subjecting me to several weeks of goal setting self-reflection was never intended, it was most certainly the result. Is this the intention of passion, to be secured a get-out-of-failure-free pass? Or, is the exact opposite the definition instead? Perhaps passions should not be sought in the places where failure is avoided, but promised.

What would I do, I fervently pondered, if I were legitimately promised I would not fail? Several long wished-for endeavors quickly came to mind, not the least of which included obtaining a doctorial degree, curing world hunger, mastering languages both ancient and modern, and might I dare to admit, even learning how to fly (in the “if only I had wings” way, not in the “hello, today I’ll be your captain” way). But, as time wore on, and my mental list began to exceed my mind’s ability to keep tabs on it, I reversed the question at hand: what would I do if I were promised I would still fail? What would be worth the benefit of experiencing the joy of the process in lieu of the pride of the successful outcome? Not surprisingly, this list was remarkably shorter.

The promise of success… what a glorious image that conjures up! In my mind I see an ancient Grecian Olympian, grape-leaf headdress, flowing white toga, golden torch with a flaming top, hands raised in sweet victory before a roaring crowd, enthused by the sheer strength and pledge of a promising young athlete. I’m not sure where this image came from exactly, or if it has ever even been a historically accurate portrayal of success for that matter, but it vividly paints the American dream: apt reward for hard work accompanied by public accolade. The promise of success… how beautiful it would be to experience an arm-raising ending to each undertaking in life. Who wouldn’t sign up for that?

But what about a promise of failure? Who would agree to the hours of painful endurance, emotional wear-and-tear, and promised disappointment right up front? But, after pondering four or five negative sub-points to my original contemplation, it hit me… don’t we do this all the time? How often do we find ourselves planning and scheming events of our lives according to our own standards and knowledge? God promises us failure as long as we don’t put Christ as the center of our lives. 1 Corinthians 3:11-15 lays it out very clearly for us, “For no one can lay any foundation other than the one we already have – Jesus Christ. Anyone who builds on that foundation may use a variety of materials… but on the judgment day, fire will reveal what kind of work each builder has done…” We have an option to build whatever we want to in life, but He is clear to warn us that in everything we do, whether well intentioned or meant for evil, we will ultimately fail every time we attempt to go it alone.

This promise so easily deceives me, however, because there are times when the scoreboard seems to favor the non-Jesus seeker’s favor… perhaps a specific success will ensue, in fact, they will from time to time, to be sure. God isn’t warning us, however, that we will never experience success by the world’s established standard of measurement while here on this earth if we do not choose to honor His Son. Instead, He speaks of something much larger… our eternal success rate. When everything is said and done, are we promised success or failure?

Well, according to 1 Corinthians 1:8-9, we are most certainly promised success! Listen to Paul’s powerful words here, “He [God] will keep you strong to the end so that you will be free from all blame on the day when our Lord Jesus Christ returns. God will do this, for He is faithful to do what He says, and He has invited you into a partnership with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord” (NLT). King David echoes these words when he writes, “Give your burdens to the LORD, and He will take care of you. He will not permit the godly to slip and fall” (Psalm 54:22, NLT, emphasis mine). Wow. It’s not my ability to succeed after all… I have a promise from the One who will eventually make the final decision: He won’t let me fail.

Not only will He not let me fail, He has promised to not fail me! (See 1 Chronicles 28:20 and Isaiah 40:8.) There is a qualifier to these promises, however. We must enter into this partnership with His Son that the Apostle Paul writes about. Paul originally wrote the letter this promise is found in to a church located in Corinth, but he makes an incredible statement right from the beginning that ensures our inclusion in this promise! “He made you holy by means of Christ Jesus, just as He did for all people everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours” (1 Corinthians 1:2, NLT). There we have it. How do we receive a promise of eternal success? By calling on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, “For ‘Everyone who calls on the name of the LORD will be saved’” (Romans 10:13, NLT).

I find it incredibly humbling to realize, however, that this promise doesn’t just offer us a guaranteed success where we once had a shot at achieving it on our own without it. God is clear that He doesn’t extend an offer of salvation to us in order to alleviate the need for striving to attain eternal success on our own. Rather, He is perfectly clear that we all fall into one of two promises: a promise of eternal success or a promise of eternal failure. Romans 6:23 sums this point up nicely, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord” (NLT). And, according to Romans 3:23, “everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God’s glorious standard” (NLT). Without personally accepting and relying on the fulfilled promise of Jesus Christ’s sacrificial death and resurrection, we are promised an eternal failure, an eternal death… sans flowing toga and flaming torch.

So what would you do if you were promised failure? I, for one, am choosing to call upon the One who can promise me success. Perhaps, and by perhaps I mean most certainly, this won’t translate into a lifetime of only positive outcomes, ear-to-ear grins, or even a very high success rate by the world’s standards, but that’s okay. An extraordinary lifespan is considered to last a hundred years, but that’s but a commercial break in light of eternity. So, the question remains… will you choose eternal success or eternal failure?

If you are interested in choosing eternal success and would like to know more about how to do so, check out www.crosswalk.com/who-is-jesus/ . The last tab on the page, The Need for Salvation – Taking the Next Step, will walk you through how to do just that.

Oh, and back to the original question that spurred this on in the first place… perhaps, just perhaps, the key to earthly passion is this: We now have the freedom to pursue those overwhelming challenges in life that promise failure because our eternal success has already been promised, and the Promiser is not taking His Word back. Just a thought.